


Thirty Years

by Alcyone



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyone/pseuds/Alcyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Years

Before his son was born, Han Solo almost fled with the _Falcon_ off-planet.

*

Ben was a surprise in a lot of ways. He was bound to be. Han’s experience with children was minimal. With babies, it was none. He had been many things by then: smuggler, scoundrel, pilot, captain, general, hero. None of those meant he could be trusted with kids. Certainly he had yet to meet a parent who would.

Despite having next to no idea of what he was doing, he was surprised to find he loved being a dad. And he loved Ben (suggested by Luke and chosen by Leia to Luke’s immense pleasure and Han’s scoffed “ _Really?_ ”) more than he thought possible. The ferocity with which he did even intimidated him. Here was a pink, wailing bundle of skin he loved more than the _Falcon_. It was a new, scary feeling.

He didn’t think Leia knew of his brief moment of panic. Chewie was the only one who did, and Chewie would carry his secrets to the grave when he died sometime in the next two hundred years. But sometimes Leia seemed to suspect. Han would have blamed the Force, except Luke was clueless so it was just a particular skill of Leia’s that had the potential to make his life difficult.

It did not occur to him that he was simply that predictable.

Though he had to fend off the occasional sharp observation, Leia seemed as happy holding their son as she was watching father and son interact. That said, she nearly took his head off the time Han packed the just shy of his first year Ben on the _Falcon_ for a brief recon trip with him and Chewie that, unfortunately, took a bad turn. She also yelled at him the afternoon Han decided two-and-a-half-year-old Ben was old enough to begin learning to make repairs on the _Falcon_. 

(Han made a small, light welder’s mask for Ben, and he was holding the torch, guiding Ben the entire time. He’d taken precautions. Ben had been perfectly safe, but try getting a word in with Leia.)

Han took to carrying Ben with him everywhere. When he couldn’t, he would leave his son in Chewbacca’s care. More than once, Han came back to find Chewie allowing Ben to use him for a giant teddy bear. Each time led to several weeks of ribbing that Chewbacca would return next time Han gave Ben whatever the boy demanded: from toys he played with once and promptly ignored, to his own set of tools so he could “improve” appliances around the house and drive his mother crazy, to recruiting Luke to help him build a small speeder for Ben’s fourth birthday. Han took it all in stride.

When he was young, he had none of it: neither family or friends, no roof or ship, and nothing he did not steal for himself. He would do right by Ben. His son would never know want.

*

The nightmares started shortly after Ben’s seventh birthday. At first, he and Leia thought they were just nightmares. They tried every suggestion: no eating before bedtime, leaving a light in the room, soothing baths before putting the boy to bed. Nothing helped.

Leia intuited the cause. Han had not been present, but she told him about it later. Ben had woken screaming. Between breathless gasps and hiccups, he told her Han was going to be hurt. A week later, she received the transmission: Han and Chewbacca had been caught unawares. Han had taken a blaster shot to the thigh, but he was fine, don’t worry, how’s Ben, can he talk to him?

By then, Luke was busy with the start of a new Jedi order. But two days after Leia contacted him, he was leading Ben behind the house to talk privately. Han watched them walk away: Luke’s stride long and dignified, and Ben adopting his usual swagger, one Han recognized in himself. Ben imitated him in almost all he did. It was a source of constant amusement and consternation for both parents.

The Force ran strong in the Skywalkers, he knew. Leia never adopted her biological family’s name, but she was as much a Skywalker as Luke. Ben had shown signs of the Force early on, but they were little things: a sharp intuition, quick reflexes. The nightmares were something else. Luke patiently explained they were visions—images of the past, present and future—and that they could be controlled. Ben is very sensitive to the Force, Luke said; when he learns control, he’ll be as powerful as a Jedi. 

All Han cared to know was that they were upsetting his kid, and he didn’t like them.

He never learned what to blame for Ben’s interest in Darth Vader, but Han would have bet on the nightmares being part of it.

Stories of Anakin Skywalker, while not common, weren’t rare. Those Han didn’t mind. What he minded were the constant questions about Darth Vader. Luke had loved his father despite everything; Han was of the opinion _good riddance_. Particularly when it was his nine-year-old fascinated with a man who would have killed them all.

One day Han caught Ben lifting a bright green and purple lizard into the air without touching it. The animal’s body was frozen in an unnatural angle. The head and tail jerked about in obvious panic.

“Ben!”

Startled, Ben dropped the animal. It scurried away as soon as it could. Though he wore a chagrined look, there was a light of challenge in his eyes Han didn’t like. His posture was also off. It wasn’t the funny swagger of his early childhood or even his uncle’s more refined demeanor that he had come to emulate each time Luke came to check on his progress. He looked to be made of straight lines, looking down on those around him. He looked like an Imperial officer. No more so than when he answered Han’s question.

“It was only a creature, dad. They don’t matter.”

That was the first time Han threatened to put a stop to it all. The Jedi training. The visits from Luke. The use of the Force.

That was the first time Ben screamed at him. He threw himself on the ground, kicked up whatever was on hand, finally grabbed a toy fighter and threw it at his father.

It was the first and only time Han hit his son.

*

Seven months after that incident, Leia called Luke. Ben had grown beyond their control: demanding, angry, resentful. Father and son could barely tolerate being in one room together. Han took to seeking out work to get him out of the house. If he thought that Leia alone with him could have better luck, they were both disappointed. Luke was their only hope.

The evening before Luke was meant to arrive, Han let himself into Ben’s room. The boy was putting together an irrigator. Leia had asked him for the favor. Ben looked up once, and promptly dropped his eyes again. In his profile, usually Han could only see Leia. In that moment, he could only see himself.

“Your uncle’s coming tomorrow,” he said after a pause. Ben picked up a screwdriver.

“I know.”

 _I know_. Han kicked himself for not coming in with something prepared. Then he doubly kicked himself because this was his son. Talking to him should not be this hard.

“Look, Ben—” Ben glanced over when Han bent down. After a second, he clasped the boy’s shoulder. “It’s going to be a lot of work. It’ll be tough, but your uncle’s a good teacher. Listen to him. Do what he says. Your mom and I…we’ll go see you when we can. Okay? 

“Okay,” he finished once he got a nod. Straightening, he clasped Ben’s head and kissed the top of it. He turned away before Ben could see the look on his face.

When Ben’s shuttle departed, Han was not present. Instead, he was halfway to a nearby base on a supply run.

*

The news came in a single transmission. Han was off the ship, negotiating their next cargo. Chewie intercepted it. The Wookiee waited for him on the ramp of the _Falcon_ with such sobriety that Han’s thoughts jumped to the worst.

“What happened? Is it Leia?”

It was much worse.

*

They went home to chaos. Luke had vanished in the interim without word to Leia or anyone. Han never thought much of droids, but he was forced to reevaluate when R2 shut down in its loss. (He had had to reevaluate a lot since he picked up a farm boy, an old man and their droids in a cantina on the outer rim.) C-3PO was, as usual, completely useless. It was actually something of a relief. At least one thing stayed the same even if that had to be the most insufferable thing in the galaxy.

Han and Chewie turned to what they did best: flying through system after system looking for hair or hide of Luke or this Jedi temple. Leia wanted to go with them, and did the first few trips. Then she stayed back as greater priorities demanded her time and her attention. Han said it was fine. Leia was better at cleaning up galactic messes; he was good at piloting, and causing a few messes of his own. Always had been. 

(He thought it would pain her less the further away she was from him. Even when it proved untrue for him.)

To pay for fuel, food, and parts while they looked, Han and Chewie turned to running trades of decreasing legality. At some point, they stopped looking. They settled into old routines, finding these still suited them like an old, well-worn jacket. When the _Falcon_ was stolen, they spent years searching and doubling back for a ship that was home and family to both. Then in that they, too, stopped looking. With a second ship and ever-riskier cargo, they passed the days.

They did not need to look for Ben. It became very obvious where he was. What he was.

*

A month into the search for Luke, overhearing Leia talking in hushed whispers with Chewbacca, Han realized he had not said Ben’s name aloud since Chewie gave him the news.

(She never cried, the princess. Everything taken from her only seemed to feed her fire. She turned each of her losses into action: the loss of her planet into fuel for the Rebellion, the loss of her brother into a decisive search.

Han was never surprised that the loss of her son would lead her to trade all of her former titles for that of ‘general.’ Leia would never do less.) 

Listening to Leia talk about her son—their son—led him to reflect on the months before they sent Ben away. (A dangerous thing: his dumbest choices always seemed tied to self-reflection.) His mouth opened—as if he would join the conversation, as if he would reassure her, as if he too would admit to everything rumbling in his head these past weeks.

Pressing his lips together, he turned away. Chewbacca found him in the cockpit later, watching the streaks of light of hyperspace through the glass. Neither spoke.

In almost twenty years, Han did not pronounce his son’s name again. When he did, it tasted like regret. It tasted like hurt. It tasted like love.

*

When Ben was born, Lando came by. One of those rare visits between missions. (He enjoyed being esteemed General Calrissian; Han never hesitated to remind him he was still a good-for-nothing in a fancier cape.) Han greeted his old friend with his son in his arms, and threatened to sic Chewie on him when Lando joked Ben turned out as hideous as his father, poor thing.

“So how’s it feel?” Lando asked when they were both seated, a drink in Lando’s hands and Ben slumbering in Han’s.

“Terrifying.” Only a couple of weeks old, Ben continued to feel frighteningly frail. A warm, weighted toy that he and Leia could pose to their liking. Han’s cheeks hurt from smiling.


End file.
